Storyteller
by totallyelf
Summary: Enitan, an age 15 storyteller from a small village is telling a story one day when Tris, Daja, Sandry and Briar come to listen. During that period it's disovered that Enitan has his own kind of magic, one that involves the use of his voice, and his pen.


Storyteller

15 year old Enitan Rawiya smiled; it was his favourite part of the day. Surrounding him were the children of the village, as well as whomever else had time to spare during the busy hours of the day. He took a deep breath, counted to seven, and slowly let it go.

"Greetings, I see faces that are familiar and faces that aren't," he gestured to a group of three young women and a young man, standing near the back of the crowd. "But let that not interfere with anything, in my eyes, everyone standing here is equal," He took another breath and continued.

"Long ago, farther back than these trees can remember, a woman stood here, perhaps in this very spot. Her name was Rachna, creation. This was before us, men, women, life perhaps. She wasn't as much woman as she was spirit; she was pure magic, in fact."

Enitan paused, looking around at his already spellbound audience. He must be getting better, three sentences and they were already absorbed in the story.

"As Rachna walked, flowers sprung up where she had stepped, where she paused trees grew eagerly from under her fingers…"

As Enitan's story blossomed, it weaved a spell around the listeners. They were captivated, his greatest tool, his voice, crafted the story the way a talented smith creates a masterpiece from a sheet of brass.

The story told how Rachna, a celestial presence took pity on the small world where nothing grew and created a masterpiece of art and beauty. When the Others saw what she had done against all traditions and rules of the stars, they took her thing of perfection and threw horrors against it, so every rose had a thorn, and every lark with its beautiful singing voice had a dull coat of feathers. Rachna however had one last trick up her sleeve, at her horror of having her world destroyed she had dispersed herself among the humans she had created and that was the start of magic. Every child knew this story but Enitan had recreated it, making it more beautiful than anything any of them had ever heard.

"And that," he finished, "Was how the world was created."

He was treated to a giant round of applause. Glancing to the back at the new-comers he had seen earlier he saw on their faces traces of amazement and disbelief. Enitan gave them a giant bow and waved them over.

"It would seem that you haven't heard true storytelling before," Enitan's father intercepted the four before they reached him, "That's my son it is, raised, from right here, small town Baseel. Why don't you four come to dinner? You'll get the best food in town."

"Why yes, thank you but before that could we speak to your son?" As the woman spoke she put a hand on one of the other's shoulder, seemingly to calm her down. The one who spoke had the mannerisms of a noble, and even with her small, button like nose, she commanded respect, but very gently from people. The one whom she had comforted was slightly chubby, with flaming red hair that looked like it was always trying to escape.

"Alone," The boy spoke up before the redhead had time to say anything. He was tall, with coppery skin and dark hair. "You interrupted us on the way over, and you don't want my mate Tris here mad at you. She hates being interrupted."

"Briar, don't be rude, thank you for inviting us to dinner." The third girl spoke; she had dark skin, a trader by the looks of her. She carried a staff designed with images and symbols.

"Father," Enitan stepped over, "don't you think you should tell Mother you are having guests." Once his father had left Enitan spoke again, "I really am very sorry, my father just seems to have that effect on people. My name is Enitan Rawiya, literally storyteller. Who, may I ask, are you?"

"I'm Sandry," the smaller one piped up, "That is Tris Chandler," she pointed to the redhead, "Briar Moss," the boy, "and Daja Kisubu. We are from Winding Circle."

Enitan staggered, "You are the four," he gasped, "The ones that have done miracles."

"That's us," Tris finally was able to get a word in edgewise, "And you, we have reason to believe, have magic that none of us have ever seen before."

Enitan, just regaining his normal composure, staggered again, "Me, magic? I can only tell stories, make them up, rewrite them, and stuff like that. I have no magic. Anyone can do that."

"But not the way you do it," Tris was firm. "When you were talking you wove a spell around all of us. We know because we can see magic. Everyone saw what you were talking about, and not," she cut him off, "the usual images in their minds. They, we, were there, watching it happen. You did that. Your voice and your pen did that. You are magic."

Enitan sat down, amazed at the meaning of the words she was saying. He was always able to tell when people were lying, and she wasn't. "Magic, really, I always knew I had a gift for this but I never thought it was magic."

"Well it is," Tris spoke gently, knowing the effect her words were having on Enitan, "And," she looked at the others, "We'd like you to come back to Winding Circle with us so you can get proper training for your magic."


End file.
